


Dark Verse

by Providentially_Demonic



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Gen, Halloween Challenge, Inspired by Fanart, Song: Decay Incantation | Hurt Incantation (Disney), Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentially_Demonic/pseuds/Providentially_Demonic
Summary: Sometimes when she can't sleep, Rapunzel slips out and explores the castle in the night, because familiar things look different in the moonlight. Sometimes she find new things in old places. Sometimes she finds new places.Sometimes something findsher.
Relationships: Eugene Fitzherbert | Flynn Rider/Rapunzel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	Dark Verse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Marissabellsart on Instagram, for her [Halloween Event!](https://www.instagram.com/p/CGpnDABg3bd/)
> 
> Based on [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/CF_XfXFjRsc/) lovely, spooky piece of art!

Sometimes, when she can't sleep, she slips out of Eugene's arms and past the night watch, padding on bare, silent feet through the halls, so different in the half-light of a few low-burning lamps and the moonlight seeping through the windows. Rapunzel likes this hour, when the halls are quiet and the sound of her own breath is the loudest noise. 

Every time she slips away, she finds a new place to explore, some she has been in the light of day, but looking strange under the cold glare of the moon. Others, she has never been and will come back later to see the differences sunlight reveals, the difference between painting with oils (bold strokes of color, vibrant in the light) and watercolors (softer edges and paler shades that blend into shadows).

It is one of the old storerooms, up under the eaves of the South tower, that her nighttime straying leads her to this night. Close to the door, draped with cloths to keep dust at bay, she finds something vaguely familiar. It is a crib, wood burnished to the color of honey, with a mobile still attached. She pulls the cloth away fully and twists her head under the mobile to see it better.  _ Ohhh...  _ She knows that carved sun— this must be where they had stored away all of her baby things when she returned as a woman grown. 

She finds a chest of baby clothes, so tiny that she can only marvel that she was ever that small. Another is full of plush toys, lovingly sewn into whimsical creatures. She finds a white horse, complete with tiny saddle and bridle that have been lovingly stitched with the golden sun-crest. She has the irresistible urge to give it to Eugene, just to see his reaction to Max as a stuffed toy!

The further from the door she moves, the older and odder the objects become. There is a spinning wheel, antiquated even when she was born, the spindle sharp and gleaming in the moonlight. A cracked teapot decorated in white and pink blossoms that still reminds her uncomfortably of an encounter on the way to the Dark Kingdom. A bowl of wax apples, bright red even in the gloom. A mounted, snarling wolf’s head, eyes uncannily lifelike in the light of the waxing moon. There is an axe mounted under the open maw, rust on its edge looking a little too much like blood. Shivering, she fetches a lamp from the hall. The bright yellow flame is welcome like sunlight on a cloudy day. With it, the shadows are less threatening, and the objects far less scary. Why even the unnerving grin on the pink and purple plush cat sitting on an overstuffed mushroom-shaped hassock looks cheery in the flicker of the flames!

Movement in the corner of her eye makes her jump and she fumbles the lamp, nearly dropping it before recovering. She sheepishly laughs with relief when she realizes it is her own reflection in an antique oval mirror. It is framed in mahogany, stained and burnished to a rich red-brown. Drawing closer, she wonders at its pristine condition among all the broken and abandoned things of generations past. It would fit right in with the furnishings in one of the guest bedrooms.

The glass is cool beneath her fingertips as she trails them over the edge of the mirror. There is no gritty feel of dust. Had someone dusted it recently? 

Something catches her eye in the reflection of her hand, pressed up against the glass. Is it a band of shadow that looks like a black ring on her finger? She bends closer to peer at it.

The hand in the mirror moves independently of hers, nails squeaking against the glass,  _ on the other side! _

She flinches back, and for the first time, really looks at her reflection in the mirror. The eyes that stare back at her are  _ not _ her own.

She has never seen it, of course, but she has been told that while in the throes of the Decay Incantation, her eyes are a fathomless black. Those are the eyes of the Rapunzel looking back at her from the mirror. Black hair writhes slowly like seaweed around the Rapunzel in the mirror.

She backs away a step, heart fluttering like a caged bird in her chest, and mouth working soundlessly. The dark mirror of her steps closer to the glass, pressing her palms against it. Terrified, Rapunzel continues to back away until she fetches up against a low table, knocking hard enough into it that she tips a glass jar containing a single withered rose onto the floor. The shattering of the glass gives her back her voice and she manages a short scream, shying away from the broken glass before it can slice her bare feet to ribbons.

The shadowed lips of her doppelgänger open and she knows with a horrifying certainty what is going to come out. 

**_“No!”_ **

Her protest does no good.  _ “Wither and Decay—” _

Darkness pools around the base of the mirror, creeping across the wood floor like inky shadows. Around those foul tendrils, decay flourishes, wooden boards crack and pull apart like a thousand years of age in the span of seconds. Fabric crumbles to dust and spiderweb threads, while a mouse that tries to flee the darkness falls over dead in its tracks.

_ “End this destiny—”  _ Her mirror self sings, black tears streaking down pale cheeks like ink. The darkness has almost reached Rapunzel’s bare, dusty feet.

“Rapunzel!” Behind her the door slams open, and there is Eugene, still in his nightclothes, but with a sword in hand. The sight of him does not bring relief, though— only more fear, for she has seen what the incantation can do to him.

_ “Break these Earthly chains—”  _ As if given new impetus by his appearance, the shadowy tendrils swarm across the floor to Eugene’s slippered feet. He gasps, a faint cry of her name, and crumples, the blade falling from lax fingers. Rust spiders across the metal as terror gives her wings and she vaults the table and bolts for her husband.

“Eugene!” The cry is raw and tears at her throat as she turns him over and stares down into his slack face, gone gray and gaunt. His brown eyes are dull and move only slowly to track on her.

**“Stop it!”** she screams at the mirror and the dark version of herself peering out of it with stygian eyes.

_ “And set the spirit free—” _

Eugene shudders in her grasp, weak fingers clawing at the rotting floor. His breath is a rattle in his throat and tears fill her eyes. “Eugene—”

He focuses on her for an instant, one hand reaching up for her cheek, shaking so badly it hurt to see. “Sunshine—” his voice was barely even a breath of air. 

_ “Set the spirit free—” _

Eugene seized in her arms and his hand thumped limply to the floor. “No! No. Eugene, _stay with me!_ Stay with me. _**EUGENE!”**_

But he did not move again. She couldn’t feel him breathing. She... she couldn’t—

No! She would not lose him again. She fumbles for his sword, but the blade is brittle with rust and falls apart when she lifts it. Frantic, she searches for a weapon— anything— outside of the range of the decay. Against the wall, she finds something untouched, a brass oil lamp of unfamiliar design. Her fingers close around it desperately and she struggles to her feet. “I won’t lose you again,” she swears to the body sprawled on the floor.

The splintering, cracking floor bites into her soles as she charges forward. The only thought she could hold onto was the desperate need to save Eugene. Screaming, she hefted the lamp and bought it smashing down on the hated face in the mirror. Glass exploded around her, and she shielded her eyes for another strike. She had to destroy it, she had to save Eugene!

The handle of the lamp broke off in her hand with the next strike. Her vision went white.

Rapunzel sat bolt upright, a scream hovering on her lips, but dying unvoiced when she saw the familiar sights of her bedroom around her. The lanterns strung from the ceiling glowed softly gold in the moonlight and crickets chirred outside the open window. Most importantly, Eugene lay beside her, chest rising and falling with every soft snore. She could only watch him breath for long, long minutes before she could gather her wits around her.

A nightmare. Only a nightmare— she had dreamed many times of him dying again, Gothel’s blade cutting him from her life before she even had a chance to save him, but this was different. She shivered at the memory of her own reflected voice singing that wretched incantation. Maybe it was just her memories of the strange feeling of being controlled by the incantation that caused the dream.

She rested a palm on Eugene’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with his steady breathing and the subtle thump of his heartbeat underneath. Sighing, she curled close to him and just reveled in the knowledge that it had been a dream and he was safe and alive beside her. Only a dream...

Her eye caught on something bright white in the moonlight. Sitting on her bedside table, a small white horse plush, wearing tiny copies of a saddle and bridle, marked with the golden sun-crest of the kingdom.


End file.
